


Ravenous

by Pixeled



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 19:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: Estinien has never felt so weak and powerless.





	Ravenous

**Author's Note:**

> So I've recently become utterly obsessed with FFXIV and Heavensward had a huge impact on me, particularly these two. Hope you like! This was written to "Weak and Powerless" by A Perfect Circle.

Estinien has never felt so weak and powerless. It isn’t just that he is convalescing from his injuries suffered when he battled the will of Nidhogg, a beast whose name blighted his existence for some twenty long years, but it is also the weight of his long-held hate and desire for vengeance. It was too much to bear for one man. He has prided himself for these last twenty years on being strong, but now he doesn’t know. He feels like he’s just shed his skin and he is born anew, but he is weary instead of reinvigorated. 

He thinks, what now? What now that the great wyrm is dead and his eyes, those all-seeing eyes, cast into the great oblivion? He is without a purpose. He is nothing without his lance and his vengeance. And yet. Mayhap he will start a new life. 

He thinks to Ysayle. To her unwavering conviction for peace after she had sinned so. There was nothing left of her and yet he would mark a place on the border of their two lands—now made one, place flowers at her grave. This he swore to himself. To make amends.

Then he thinks to Aymeric, how he will serve Ishgard well now that his father is dead, the Archbishop who never really acknowledged him, named him Bastard. His mind lingers on their friendship. He heard that the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, ever his friend, has come to check on him, the ill-fated Azure Dragoon, every day. This he gleaned from in and out of consciousness, the mutterings of the chirurgeon. Today is the first day, however, that he feels himself.

He wishes that The Warrior of Light had slain him and Nidhogg both. 

He is trying to be still, to escape the gaze of the chirurgeon who is standing vigil a few feet away staring out the window, his eyes far away, but he turns and sees that Estinien is awake and he smiles. 

“Ah. The worst has passed,” he says softly. 

“The worst is yet to come,” Estinien says, grimacing as pain goes through him where each of the eyes of Nidhogg were grafted. He feels like a ton of bricks is sitting on his chest. 

“That you even survived,” the chirurgeon says, “is a feat of the Twelve. I was told to alert Ser Aymeric when you awoke,” he says. “Doubtless you are not yet ready to receive a visitor and I would not excite—"

“Call to him. And leave me be,” Estinien interrupts brusquely. He slowly starts to shift in the bed but the chirurgeon settles a hand firmly but gently on Estinien’s chest and shakes his head. 

“You have many wounds. You must needs rest a while yet.”

“I can rest when I’m dead, and I yet still draw breath, healer,” Estinien says, his voice gruff. His throat is hoarse. He feels parched. 

“If you must insist,” the chirurgeon sighs. He gets up slowly and looks at Estinien before he goes to the door where a Temple Knight is standing watch. He says something which Estinien cannot make out clearly, but he hears Aymeric’s name being uttered. 

Estinien realizes in that moment that he wishes Aymeric hadn’t seen him this way, but it is too late. He sets his jaw as a swirl of blue cloth and ebon hair enters the room.

“Should have left me to die,” Estinien grunts. 

“Never,” Aymeric says, closing the heavy wooden and steel door behind him. Blessedly, the chirurgeon is not with him and they are alone. Aymeric stands there for a moment and then goes to his knees at the side of the bed, his hand moving over Estinien’s which is laid over his stomach. Estinien feels a strange emotion come over him and he moves his face away from Aymeric. 

“Don’t. Get up. Bloody hells, I am not dead yet.”

“Full glad am I that you are awake, my friend,” Aymeric says, but he does not move. “I . . . was worried, I must admit.”

“I’m a tougher bastard than that and you know it,” Estinien says, moving his head back to regard Aymeric with his steel blue eyes. Aymeric’s eyes are lighter, kinder, but there is a strange emotion swirling in their depths. 

“I must confess something,” Aymeric whispers almost too low to hear. Estinien shifts closer unconsciously, his hand responding to Aymeric’s, closing over it with curled fingers. He squeezes slightly. The action makes him draw a tight breath. Touching Aymeric, however slight, has always made his heart ache. He’s always ignored that ache. Always told himself that Aymeric didn’t feel the same way. That they were brothers in arms, nothing more, nothing less. 

“What is it?” Estinien asks, and his voice betrays some trepidation he’s not used to feeling.

“I . . .” 

“Out with it before I rip out your tongue and you won’t utter a bloody word for the rest of your damnable life.”

“I have tried to dampen my feelings for some time. Since we were fledgling knights,” Aymeric says with a touch of sadness. Estinien can feel the rawness that Aymeric is displaying. 

“Feelings. About what exactly?” Estinien asks. He dares not think the feelings are for him.

“Are you going to make me say it?” Aymeric asks, his eyes downcast. He slowly lifts his head and looks at Estinien squarely in the eyes. “Very well. I . . . when we carried you here and placed you in the ward of the chirurgeon, I felt my heart breaking for I had considered what it might mean to have let you die without having said these next few words.”

“Speak them,” Estinien whispers, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat, the tightness in his chest threatening to take him down, swallow him whole in a way that not even Nidhogg could have done.

“Estinien,” Aymeric says, squaring his shoulders, squeezing Estinien’s hand. “I have loved you for a very long time.”

Estinien cannot believe the words that have tumbled forth from Aymeric’s mouth. He thinks, perhaps, he is having another fever dream . . . but it all feels so real. He stares at Aymeric and leans up slowly. He stares into Aymeric’s eyes, searching them as he kisses him. It is brief and he breaks it to move his head back and study Aymeric’s reaction. 

Aymeric searches Estinien’s eyes much the same as his compatriot has done before, but instead of rejecting Estinien as Estinien thought he might, Aymeric surprises him with a kiss that rivals any kiss he’s ever received. He’s had his fair share of nights skulking into fellow warriors’ encampments, but he’s always imagined that it was someone else. Aymeric. He didn’t want to admit to himself that it was love, always tried to quell the tide that roars inside him, but this. This was too much. When Aymeric kissed him it was full of longing and heat and . . . it was perfect. 

Estinien, needing no words and never having been good at them, only responds in kind and kisses back with a fire he’s been burning inside for a very long time. He’s ravenous suddenly. Soon their tongues meet and dance together, Estinien sucking at Aymeric’s. They kiss for what seems an eternity to Estinien and he doesn’t want to break apart, but needing air necessitates that. They are left gasping and panting and Aymeric, in simpler clothes than his usual raiment (but still blue in color), tugs his shirt off while he looks at Estinien with unbridled passion. Estinien sits up and finds that a blinding pain crosses his eyes and he grimaces. Aymeric, watching, presses Estinien into the bed again and moves aside the sheets to reveal that Estinien is in even simpler clothes—a tunic with ties at the chest, and a pair of thin pants. Aymeric smiles at Estinien and kisses him again, almost chastely, before he kisses down his neck, sucking his skin as he goes. It pulls a moan from Estinien’s lips and Aymeric groans in response. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Aymeric says, breathless. “I want you to relax. I’ll do all the work.” Before Estinien can protest, Aymeric is dragging the tunic he wears up, kissing his stomach as it’s revealed. Next he drags the simple pants down just far enough so that Estinien’s cock pops free. He’s already hard. Aymeric’s mouth envelops it soon after, his eyes up on Estinien’s, and of course he is watching, rapt with attention. He is up on his elbows, another moan pulling from him. 

Aymeric looks good sucking his cock, his full lips stretched over him. So good that he tells him. Aymeric pulls off him to laugh, and the laugh makes Estinien’s cock twitch along with the way his lips have reddened, shiny with spittle, his eyes clouded with want. And then he engulfs him again and he’s sucking gently at first, then with increasing suction and speed. And then he introduces his tongue, swiping it along the underside of his cock in slow swaths. Estinien knows automatically that he’s not going to last long. He collapses back on the bed, fingers digging at the sheets. He curses and his head goes back. Aymeric relents, moves his mouth off him, and tells him—not asks—to come before licking up his cock then engulfing him again. 

Estinien comes into Aymeric’s waiting mouth, and he continues to suck until there’s nothing left to swallow. As if he too were some ravenous beast. He climbs up Estinien’s body, careful not to aggravate his wounds and kisses him and Estinien doesn’t mind even though he can taste himself there.

“What about you?” Estinien asks, hand moving up to bury itself in Aymeric’s hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Aymeric smiles, his eyes twinkle, and he puts a finger to Estinien’s lips. 

“Think not of me, Estinien. When you are hale and whole, you will repay the favor.” He adjusts Estinien’s clothing, replaces the sheets over him and kisses his forehead. He puts his shirt back on, adjusting his clothes. Before he turns to leave, Estinien holds out his hand and takes Aymeric’s in his.

“Wait,” Estinien says. Aymeric looks down at him and smiles again. “I didn’t say it back.” Aymeric lets his hand slip from Estinien’s and shakes his head.

“You needn’t do that,” Aymeric says.

“I don’t deserve your love,” Estinien says, turning his face away from Aymeric’s gaze. “I was so foolish. So arrogant. Now I am nothing.”

“You are and will always be the Azure Dragoon,” Aymeric says, tilting his head. 

“Fuck your titles and fuck the Azure Dragoon,” Estinien says. 

“You don’t mean that,” Aymeric says.

“All I ever really cared about was being close to you,” Estinien admits. “I played a good game, distancing myself from everyone, from the politicking and the madness of which house was better and who gives a shit about those swiving whoresons? Not me. All I ever cared about was being near you. If it weren’t for you, I would never have become Azure Dragoon.”

“You give me too much credit,” Aymeric says.

“No,” Estinien says. “I don’t give you enough credit. I love you, too. I’ve always loved you.”

Aymeric closes his eyes and tilts his head back before opening them once again, turning and walking to the door where he stops. Without turning back to look at Estinien he opens the door. 

“You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Rest well. Thank you.”

The chirurgeon enters the room as Aymeric walks out. He resumes his post, staring out the window. Without looking at Estinien he tells him to close his eyes and sleep. He administers a powerful sleep potion. Estinien wants to get up and chase Aymeric, but today is not the day. 

Soon. 

Today he closes his eyes and smiles. 

Aymeric loves him. It’s a boon he doesn’t deserve, and yet. And yet he now has a purpose. 

He looks at his helm lying on the windowsill and takes a deep breath. Perhaps his fight is not over. Perhaps he will fight for Aymeric. Perhaps he always has. 

And then sleep claims him.

 


End file.
